


Through and throughly

by CardboardMoose



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-30
Updated: 2011-04-30
Packaged: 2017-10-18 19:43:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/192544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CardboardMoose/pseuds/CardboardMoose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Equius has never cared much about his hair. Gamzee makes an effort to change that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Through and throughly

Equius has never cared much about his hair.

He supposes he is lucky, in a way; if his hair were anything but resolutely straight, it would long ago have matted into a single mass around his head. Instead it hangs, limp and lifeless and ill-attended, about his face, only heeded in the form of a periodic, irritated shove behind mismatched horns when it gets in his eyes. Even if he wished to do anything with it, his strength would preclude such an activity - combs snap between his fingers, and he's as likely to break his own neck tugging on a knot as anything else. It's never bothered him - of all the consequences of his strength to be concerned with, his hair holds little import - but apparently, it bothers Gamzee.

"It's sad!" the higblood had cried one afternoon, sitting bolt upright with the force of his revelation. "Your hair, bro, it's all motherfucking sad on account of you don't pay no attention to it! We gotta fix that right now-times."

And that had been that, of course. First it had been into the ablution trap, Gamzee's long fingers working lavation gel into his hair, massaging his scalp and occasionally stroking his horns. Next, to the respiteblock, dried and dressed, and sat down firmly between Gamzee's legs, upon one of the many junkpiles littering the floor.

He perches obediently, a brush carefully balanced on one hand, resisting the urge to grip it and inevitably destroy the fragile thing beyond repair. Gamzee's breath is soft against the back of his neck, and he feels his matesprit's hands in his hair, carding through it, feeling the thickness, the weight, the ever-shifting strands forming the whole. Those hands draw the stray hairs away from his forehead, gently tucking them behind his horns and ears, repeating the gesture until it becomes a small ritual, a point of focus around which his entire world revolves. Gamzee's hands are cool and soft, their motion soothing, and he sinks into the sensation, feeling the tension drain out of his muscles as it does so very rarely.

Gamzee makes a contented noise, and Equius feels the point of the highblood's nose press into the base of his skull, resting there for a moment as Gamzee breathes in, pressing a brief kiss to the top of his spine, over the vulnerable closeness of bone underneath grey skin. He takes the brush from Equius' hand, drawing it through his hair, teasing out knots and tangles. His hands are sure, confident without being forceful, and Equius is lulled by the motion, leaning into each stroke of the brush.

"Now," Gamzee's voice is a low murmur in his ear, and the unexpectedness of it sends a shiver over his skin, "let's see what we can motherfucking do with this, mm?"

He tries to make a noise of assent but his voice catches somewhere in his throat and all that emerges is a half-sound, barely more than a breath. Gamzee chuckles, the sound reverberating through both of them, and Equius feels his hands at his temple, separating a section of hair and beginning to braid it, drawing the plait back until it hangs behind the point of his ear. Gamzee takes a moment to admire his work - Equius thinks, though it's hard to tell when he can't see his face - and begins on the other side, working with quiet concentration. Equius feels his eyes closing of their own volition and does not fight it, letting himself float in the darkness, tethered only by the warmth of Gamzee behind him, around him. He feels Gamzee's hands begin to work on the body of his hair, twisting it into a long, thick braid at the back of his head, the weight of it hanging between his shoulderblades.

Gamzee tugs gently on the braid, tilting Equius' head back and around until their mouths meet, softly at first, then harder, more insistently. They lean backwards, Equius twisting until he is atop Gamzee, bracing himself with care on the precarious slopes of the junkpile. Gamzee raises his hands, smiling into Equius' mouth, and works them through Equius' hair, undoing all his work by weaving his hands into it, through it, drawing Equius down to him.

\---

Afterwards, they lie together, Gamzee curled within the protective crescent of Equius' body. Equius presses his nose into the wild mess that is Gamzee's hair and breathes him in, the scent of him, of _them_. Gamzee's hair is a mad thing, all kinks and curls and confusion, and Equius thinks that perhaps he could lose himself following the contours of it, the mesh of line upon line upon line. The thought is not an unpleasant one.

When he speaks, his voice is a low rumble, half-ashamed of itself. "Highblood, I...I apologise for my inability to reciprocate your attentions. If my strength would allow it, I would not be so negligent."

Gamzee shifts against him, settling further into their shared cocoon of warmth, and Equius can hear the sleep-soft smile in his voice. "Nah, my brother, it ain't no thing. It's cool that I can do this shit for you, you know? Not your fault. My hair just goes on and does its own thing." A pause. "Kinda like you, babe."

Equius huffs into Gamzee's hair, knowing the truth, feeling it deep and bright within his chest.

"Not my own, highblood. Yours."

There is little that needs to be said, after that, but Equius wears braids in his hair the next day, and perhaps is seen, fleetingly, to smile.


End file.
